Speak No Evil
by OneLittleBlueJay
Summary: Prince Jean Kirstein usually dreads life within the castle-he hates being confined to the throne. But on his 13th birthday, a mute musician hoping to become the prince's jester changes everything and teaches Jean that actions speak louder than words.


Hey guys! I'm here with another oneshot-this time it's JeanXMarco. I hope you enjoy! I may turn this into a multi-chaptered fanfic if people like it.

For those of you who have already seen this oneshot in 'Inexplicably You,' I decided to re-publish the oneshots separately. Sorry for any confusion! And to chose who follow Kyojin University: I am still working on Chapter 11; forgive me...I'm in the middle of finals.

**Disclaimer: Don't own these two. asjkdgsbdghfbg**

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**Speak No Evil**

Prince Jean Kirstein hated birthdays, especially his own.

Each year his parents would go overboard with the celebrations: pretty much every person of nobility in the kingdom would be invited to the castle for a glorious dinner and dance, followed by hours of what the King and Queen called "entertainment," in which townspeople who were not of noble rank from the outer Wall Maria would perform various acts such as singing, storytelling, and magic tricks in hopes of becoming a jester and living in the castle.

In other words: Prince Jean was pretty much confined to his throne for the entirety of the party. He hated dancing, he hated hearing the giggles from the daughters of noblemen who were only interested in his status, and he _hated _jesters! Somehow he was supposed to appreciate watching all of his citizens having fun and dancing when he couldn't do a damn thing.

"Maybe it will be different this year," his friend (eternal rival) Eren Jeager had told him during one of Jean's tutoring sessions, "Turning thirteen only happens once, you know. And now you can choose who you want to marry and have lots of childr-!"

At this point Jean had whacked the boy with one of the scrolls he was supposed to copying arithmetic onto and earned a harsh scolding from Eren's father, who served as a tutor and doctor for the royal family members. Jean hated the tutor's son with a passion—whatever marks Jean received for his studies, Eren always ranked just a few points higher—and Jean was forced to tolerate the other's presence as both he and Eren were forced to receive tutoring for reading and arithmetic on a weekly basis.

Jean secretly had a small crush on Eren's sister, Mikasa, but marrying her would be out of the question—he certainly didn't want to have Eren as a brother!

But he did have hope. Becoming a teenager was a big step, and maybe his parents would grant him more liberties at the party. Maybe he'd even be able to drink the ale!

However, all hopes and dreams the prince had went tumbling out the window once the big day actually hit. He was once again confined to his throne, overlooking his "loyal subjects" (more like rich butt-kissers) laugh and dance and have a jolly good time.

"Why can't I join them?" he huffed to his mother, crossing his arms.

"You're of age now sweetie, you must show your subjects how mature you've grown! You're going to be their next ruler, after all," the queen responded, chuckling and ruffling his hair.

The prince sighed and sank into his chair, dreading the hours to come.

One feast and three dances later Jean was ready to fall asleep. The king and queen had already given their speeches (Jean had stuttered through his own about being a responsible future ruler and stuff like that), and now the entertainment portion of the evening was to begin. Sitting up in his chair, he could see a long line of people anxiously waiting for their turn to perform for the prince.

Groan.

Jean signed and leaned back in his chair once more, getting ready to cover his ears when the first performer claimed to be the best singer in the kingdom. The man barely sang for 10 seconds before the prince waved his hand, signaling for the next performer to come up.

This process went on for another painful hour, with no potential candidates for the jester position. Jean finally saw an opening for escape when some of the servants began setting up for a magic trick, blocking his throne from view. He clambered from his seat, keeping his head low as he tried to inch his way through the crowd of people looking curiously at the display being set up in the middle of the room. Excitement coursed through him as he spotted the door to the ballroom growing closer and closer; all he had to do was reach out his arm annnnddd—

_CRASH_

In his excitement he had failed to notice the boy who had entered the room, and was sent reeling to the floor when he promptly collided with him. For a split second, all Jean could see were two terrified dark eyes accompanied by a freckled nose before Jean wrinkled his nose in disgust, pushing himself off of the boy.

Brushing out the wrinkles in his clothes, the prince surveyed the room only to discover that everyone had gone completely silent, their attention now focused on the two boys. He could see his mother staring at him with wide eyes, her hands frozen in the act of cutting a piece of chicken. Beside the queen, his father's eyes had narrowed considerably.

_Well_, Jean thought, gulping, _time to reclaim my dignity._ He looked one more time at his father before returning his attention to the boy in front of him.

"Who are you?" the prince demanded, drawing himself to his full height. To his dismay the boy was already a bit taller than him; standing on his toes would only look embarrassing. "Apologize at once!"

"Please, sire, he's mute," an old man beside him pleaded, his old frame trembling.

"…You mean he does not speak?" Jean asked slowly, eyes widening. The old man sighed, closing his eyes.

"Yes. He's been like this since the day he was born, I'm afraid," he said sadly, "I bring him here today because I have no other choice. I am afraid my days are numbered, and there will be no one else to take care of him when I am gone. I beg you, my Prince, please give him a chance."

"What can he possibly do that will earn him a place in this castle?" Jean asked without skipping a beat. He had heard all of the sob stories before and had no problem turning the others away. This one would be no different.

However, the old man smiled.

"You must see for yourself, sire. I promise that you will not be disappointed."

Jean crossed his arms and glanced at his father once more, who nodded.

"You!" the prince shouted, pointing to one of the servants, "I wish to watch this boy's performance without the presence of our guests. Remove everyone from the room and clear the way for the boy!" The servant nodded, terrified, and began hurriedly gesturing for people to leave. Some of the elders huffed, muttering curses about the prince still acting like a child, but Jean ignored them, instead surveying the two commoners who had entered the room. They certainly looked too poor to live even amongst the outer walls, so how did they manage to get past the guards?

Jean sauntered up back to his throne in the middle of the room. Surprisingly, his parents had risen from their seats and were walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he blurted out. His mother smiled.

"You're thirteen now, son. Surely you can handle the responsibility of picking your own jester by yourself now," his father said, winking, before the two filed out leaving the prince, the boy, and the old man.

"Are you his father?" Jean asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the room.

"That I am, Your Majesty," the old man replied, smiling weakly.

"Where do you hail from? Surely not from any of the three walls. How did you manage to enter the castle?" Jean fired round after round of questions. However, the old man's smile grew.

"I merely had my son perform what you are about to see, sire," he said, a glint in his eye. Jean regarded the man carefully.

"And you say your days are numbered," he finished slowly.

"That they are…"

"I'll make you a bargain," Jean said, linking his fingers together and resting his chin upon them. He might as well start off his teenagerdom with a daring risk, right? "If this boy manages to impress me, you will both live here and receive the care you need from our doctor here in the castle. Leave us for now, please."

The old man bowed with a tear in his eye before exiting the room, leaving only the prince and the freckled boy. Jean let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and relaxed. He was still apprehensive about talking to his elders, but surely he could handle this boy.

"So what's your name?" the prince began before mentally slapping himself when the other gave him a confused look while pointing to his mouth and shaking his head.

"Uhhh, wait, I think I have some parchment over here somewhere," Jean mumbled, looking on the table next to him—there it was! Smiling triumphantly, he handed the piece of parchment and a quill dipped in ink to the mute boy.

The smile quickly turned into a frown when the other simply stared at the items in his hands helplessly. Jean sighed.

"Can you write?" he asked slowly.

The boy shook his head.

Jean groaned. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

"Well can you read?" he asked as a last resort. To his relief, the other nodded excitedly, a smile finally lighting up his features.

"Good!" the prince said before snatching away the quill and parchment and startling the other. Jean slammed the parchment down onto the table and began scribbling frantically, ignoring how the other boy seemed completely and utterly captivated by what Jean was doing. The only sound that could be heard for a few moments was the scratching of the quill as the prince wrote.

"There!" the prince exclaimed proudly, holding up the parchment once he had finished, "The alphabet!"

At the other's confused look, he laid out the parchment on the table for the boy to see.

"Point to the letters that make your name," he instructed, and the other nodded, turning his gaze to the parchment. He lifted a shaking hand, and with his finger, slowly touched some of the letters while Jean wrote them down.

_Marco Bodt_ was what Jean had written down once the freckled boy had finished. Jean mentally congratulated himself for being a genius, before smirking at the other. "So you are named Marco, then?"

Marco nodded vigorously, beaming.

"Well then, Marco, you have captured my attention. Congratulations. What are you going to show me to prove your worth as a jester?" the prince asked, reclaiming his place on the throne. Marco made a motion with his hand to wait, and ran to the door, opening it just a peek so that the old man's face appeared. The old man handed something to Marco before the doors slammed shut again.

Marco carefully made his way up the steps again, carrying a violin and bow. Jean's eyes widened—he had never had a musician come to perform for him before. And that instrument looked exquisite. The wood was perfectly polished, as if someone had spent hours cleaning every last bit of grime off of it, the hair of the bow full and looking not a day old.

He motioned for the boy to come forward, and when he did Jean looked inside the f-holes of the violin to find the maker.

_Utopia District, Year xxxx_

Jean's heart nearly stopped—an instrument of such fine craftsmanship, and from his own district! How had Marco been able to get a hold of this treasured relic? He realized then how important this instrument must be to Marco—it was probably the only thing of worth the boy owned.

"Play for me," he demanded, "Make the violin makers here in Wall Sina proud."

Marco nodded and placed the violin on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, positioning his bow right above the strings, and began to play.

It was the most beautiful sound Jean had ever heard in his 13 years of life. Marco practically _glowed_ as he played, the sweet tone of his playing filling the room and washing over everything. Jean was unable to see, hear, or breathe; just focus on the sound of music he never wanted to end. Marco's fingers danced across the fingerboard, his eyes closed as his fingers produced a rich vibrato on the lower register notes before shifting his hand and barely touching the higher notes on the thinnest string, the notes nothing but little wisps of air floating freely from the instrument.

Marco wasn't playing music, he was setting it free.

When he finished, Jean felt strangely empty, as if he had gone on a great journey and returned without remembering a single thing that happened. He could only remember the remarkable feeling that overwhelmed his senses.

"Where did you learn to play like that?" he breathed.

"He taught himself since he was a little boy," the old man's voice answered from the door. He had peeked in while Marco was playing, and now tears ran freely down his face, "And has played every day since. This is how Marco speaks, Your Majesty. It's the only way he knows how to."

Marco nodded with a sad smile gracing his features.

Jean slowly stood from his throne, descended down the steps, and stood in front of the boy.

"You possess remarkable talent," he declared, "And I may only be thirteen, but I am well aware that musicians like you only come around once in a lifetime."

He suddenly grabbed Marco by the arm, dragging him towards the door. To his surprise, not only was the old man waiting behind the doors, so was the rest of the palace! Jean reddened, suddenly aware of the hundreds of people looming over him, but shook his head and raised the boy's arm with his own.

"I have chosen this musician, Marco Bodt, to be my new jester!" he announced in the most princely voice he could muster, "He and his father shall reside in the castle and I expect them to treated with the upmost respect!"

He could feel Marco trembling in his grasp as generous applause filled the entire castle, praising the mute violinist who had been able to speak to the most powerful teenager in the land through the gift of music.

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I hope you guys liked it! I may continue this sort of arc in the future; I think it could go places...let me know what you think!

Please review!

Until next time,

-Jay


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